The estate she grew up in was being devoured by towering and smouldering red and yellow flames that lit the sky around them with a horrid orange glow. Black smoke bled out through the many large broken windows of her childhood home, and the smell of burning wood filled the air around them. The heat of the fire toasted her soot-smeared face, and as her tears began to fall, they left streaks on her cheeks. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her body trembled at the sight and sounds around her. As the ashes of her life floated down from the sky like snowflakes on the first day of winter, she looked around for the rest of her family, noticing they weren’t anywhere to be seen. Instead, surrounding her were the gardens which had been lush and brimming with life only that afternoon and were now catching fire from the falling embers. Rocío knew she wouldn’t have managed to escape the inferno if not for her maid who had rushed her out of bed and led her through the intense smoke and the billowing flames that filled the halls. 

“W-where’s Santiago?” She coughed. They were the first words she spoke as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her bare feet were aching and burning from the embers and the cuts she’d sustained from broken glass, but they weren’t enough to ground her.

“My lady, we don’t have much time, he knows,” her maid, Leticia, panted, urging her to move faster, pulling on her arm.

Rocío shook her head, stopping in the middle of the flaming gardens. “No, where is he? Where is Elena, and mother… a-and father?”

Leticia looked at her with sorrow, tears shining over her dark brown eyes that looked black in the shadows of the night, as she solemnly shook her head.

Rocío’s eyes grew at the realization of her maid’s silence. “No, no, no!” She screamed as she stood in shock. “They’re coming, right?” Her voice shook as she turned back to the burning estate.

Leticia looked away but tightened her grip on Rocío’s hand, pulling her towards the wall at the end of the gardens. “There has to be a way out…” She mumbled, mostly to herself, as she analyzed the creeping vines.

Rocío shook free from Leticia’s grip in a swift and harsh pull, “I’m not leaving without them!” She turned back to the burning mansion. “Santiago! Elena!” She cried out, her voice cracking, but drowned under the crackling of the intense fire.

Leticia turned to Rocío. “My lady!” She yelled, “They’re gone! He got to them! We must run!” She didn’t stop pulling Rocío for even a second.

Rocío’s vision blurred, and she collapsed. “I-I can’t,” her voice came out as a hoarse cry. Her knees had given out, and she’d toppled to the stone floor, scraping her legs as her thin nightgown was no match for the stones under her. She didn’t dare imagine what had happened to her family. “I…I can’t leave,” she gasped for fresh air but all she breathed was smoke, “not without them.”

Leticia’s cheeks were stained with tear streaks and soot. “Rocío, please, my lady,” she begged. “You have to live.” She took Rocío’s hands again and pulled her with all her might, trying her best to move the young woman towards the wall. Her efforts meant nothing, Rocío’s dead weight was beyond what she could pull.

Among the crackling of the fire, a set of calm footsteps was heard thumping against the stone path.

“My lady, I beg of you, we have to go!” Leticia kept pulling, more urgently this time, the fear caused her voice to crack. “I promised your brother that I’d keep you safe.”

Rocío’s gaze was distant, almost lifeless. “My siblings…my parents…” The tears fell from her eyes, flooding her vision and stinging her nose. The dread and fear fell upon her like a heavy blanket, pushing her further into despair and the floor.

“My lady!”

The footsteps drew closer.

“Santiago?” Rocío’s whispering voice questioned as she looked towards the sound, her amber eyes dripping with endless tears. She so desperately wanted to see her brother's warm amber eyes. Even if it’s just him, please, spare at least one of them.

Leticia’s own tears didn’t stop flowing, but she stepped in front of Rocío, shielding her as a tall looming figure approached them. Rocío could barely see anything beyond her maid. 

“Please, sir, spare us!” Leticia pleaded. “What crime ha-have we committed to deserve this?” Her voice cracked.

Rocío heard the particularly sharp sound of a blade being drawn and with a swift swing, Leticia toppled to the floor. Rocío’s skin crawled and she gasped, pushing herself back with the little strength she could master.

The bright inferno lit the person’s face in an eerie glow. A man drenched in blood and smeared in soot stood before her. His piercing soulless green eyes stared her down as if she were no more than a bug, his long black hair hung messily around his face, tangled, and matted with blood and sweat. He lifted his sword in the air, ready to strike her down. His movements were steady and unsettlingly mechanical.

Rocío’s eyes grew, she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t beg for her life. Why? The only thought that ran through her head. Why us?

The man swung his sword down on her.

Rocío gasped for air as she shot up from the bed. Her breathing was erratic, and she gripped her comforter so tightly that her knuckles paled. She was covered in cold sweat, her brown wavy hair stuck to her face and neck as sweat dripped from her dark brow. A wave of nauseousness crashed over her as her heartbeat resonated through every fibre of her being. Just as her breathing steadied, a tear rolled down her cheek.

It was the fifth time that week. The fifth time that bloody nightmare haunted her dreams. The fifth time she’d felt the agonizing pain of that blade on her neck so vividly. The first two times, she’d woken up and clutched her neck, as if checking if the blood was seeping through. The third time she’d run out to check on Elena and her parents. After confirming they were just fine, she’d refused to sleep for an entire day. The fourth time she wept in the darkness of her room as it had become all too familiar.

Rocío rubbed her face and took fistfuls of her hair. She detested that nightmare. It was causing her to go insane. She could barely sleep, eat, or talk. It had only been a week, but her sister was growing concerned. She stretched over the bed and poured herself a glass of water from the beautifully intricate carafe that sat on her bedside table.

After the third time she’d had the nightmare, she started to wonder why she was having such a dream in the first place. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she’d never met the man in her dreams nor could she think of a reason as to why her family would be annihilated by him.